


As long as he needs me

by artsyleo



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24274009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsyleo/pseuds/artsyleo
Summary: The first time Callum could remember seeing Ben, he was 9 years old. He didn’t really understand then, how the world worked. How he was born into a family that would always have bread on the table, and a fire in the fireplace; how all of these things were a luxury to other people around him.That was why a young Callum Highway simply didn’t know what to think when he saw a boy emerge from the chimney, covered in black dust and coughing.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	As long as he needs me

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning -. relatively light references to child abuse throughout
> 
> this is probably horribly historically inaccurate, but ah well

The first time Callum could remember seeing Ben, he was 9 years old. He didn’t really understand then, how the world worked. How he was born into a family that would always have bread on the table, and a fire in the fireplace; how all of these things were a luxury to other people around him. By name, he was a Highway- his father was important, he knew that much. Later he’d realise that his father wasn’t just important; he was manipulative, and controlling, and bigoted, but a young Callum, a far more innocent boy, didn’t understand that. That young boy hadn’t been given the luxury of knowing the truth of the world around him – his father didn’t let him associate with anyone that he deemed to be below them, wrapping those people in a shroud of cruel words that Callum had simply been told he’d understand when he was older.

(The truth was, in fact, that his father had expected Callum to grow to understand his father’s bigotry. Instead, he’d been taught of a better world.)

That was why a young Callum Highway simply didn’t know what to think when he saw a boy emerge from the chimney, covered in black dust and coughing. The other boy looked younger than him, perhaps by a year or two, and he was shorter – not that that meant a great deal, Callum was tall for his age anyway – but his face, or the parts that Callum could see through the thick layer of soot, looked older. His cheeks were hollow, and there were wrinkles around his eyes already, presumably from stress. His hair, which Callum suspected was normally a chestnut brown, was matted with black soot.

“Why are you going up there?” Callum asked, his voice curious. “I don’t think you’re supposed to.”

The other boy whipped around to look at him. There was a surprised look on his face, as if the attention from Callum came as a shock to him.

“It’s my job,” the boy said. He had a gruff voice, but for some reason, the minute it passed the other boy’s lips, all Callum wanted was to hear more of it. “Get lost, posh boy.”

With that the boy smirked at him, and turned back to the chimney. Callum felt wrong footed all of a sudden, but ‘posh boy’ definitely wasn’t the worst thing Callum had been called. He shrugged, leaving the boy to his job.

-

When Callum properly met the boy again, he was 12. They’d moved house since then, a slightly smaller one, further away from the town. Callum had only bothered to ask his father once why they were moving, and was answered with a sharp ‘because we have to, boy’. Safe to say, Callum didn’t bother to ask again. He’d almost forgotten about his short interaction with the mysterious boy, until he came across him again, sat at the base of their new chimney, ripping apart a piece of stale bread. He was a little less covered in soot this time, so Callum could make out much more of his face. He looked a little older this time, maybe 9 or so, and his hair was longer, more shaggy. It looked as though someone had cut it quickly with kitchen scissors. He suspected from the state of the rest of the boy’s appearance that it probably had.

Callum noticed as well that the boy looked downright miserable, and, Callum guessed, he probably had a cause- the bread he was forcing down looked rock solid. Callum ran to the kitchen, thankful that there was no one there, and pulled a piece of bread from the pantry. As a last thought, he grabbed some cheese too, and ran back to the room where the boy was sat.

“That looks a bit off. Here,” Callum said, offering the food to him. The boy (he really did need to ask his name) looked at him sceptically.

“Charity, from you?” the boy scoffed. “I’m alright, posh boy.”

“It’s not charity,” Callum replied. “It’s just food.”

The boy looked back at him, eyes narrowed, before snatching the food away and throwing the stale bread onto the floor. When the other boy didn’t say anything, Callum came to sit across from him.

“I’m Callum,” he said, holding out his hand. “What’s your name?”

The boy stopped chewing for a minute and looked at Callum as if he’d grown another head. Callum’s hand was unwavering, though.

“Ben,” the boy said hesitantly, shaking Callum’s hand a little too firmly.

“See? Now you can call me something other than ‘posh boy’,” Callum smiled. The boy- Ben, just smirked right back at him.

“Think I prefer posh boy, really,” he replied, his mouth full of bread.

“Why do you call me that?” Callum asked, his curious nature shining through. Ben just looked at him incredulously, as if it was obvious.

“That’s what my dad calls your lot,” he replied.

“’My lot’?”

“What, you dumb or something?” Ben scoffed. “You rich people, you ain’t got a clue about real life.”

“What do you mean?” Callum replied, cocking his head. His father hated this part of Callum- he was naturally inquisitive, wanted to know anything and everything about the world. Callum’s father just said that it would cause him more trouble than it was worth one day. Callum didn’t bother to ask what he meant by that- he suspected he didn’t really what to know.

“Us workers ain’t supposed to talk to you lot, that’s what my dad says. He says that you lot are all up yourselves,” Ben laughed, a mischievous grin coming across his face.

“Up what?” he replied, to which Ben just let out a laugh. Before the boy could reply, someone tapped harshly on Callum’s shoulder, before pulling him to his feet by the scruff of his neck.

“Come on, Callum. You’re not supposed to talk to people like him,” Stuart, Callum’s brother, muttered none too quietly to Callum. “And you- thought you were supposed to be working?”

The mischievous grin faded a little from Ben’s face, until Stuart left the room, gesturing for Callum to follow.

“See you around, Halfway,” Ben smirked, before grabbing the brush from next to him.

Callum decided then that he liked the way Ben called him Halfway.

-

Over the next few years, Callum found himself seeking out Ben, more and more eager to speak to the scruffy, mischievous boy. He never dared to tell anyone that he’d made a friend in the boy, particularly after Stuart’s reaction to the two of them talking, but there was a part of him that looked forward to seeing and speaking to Ben. He found himself looking forward to Saturdays, now more than ever- on Saturdays, Ben could be found clearing out the chimney in the back room, far away from where anyone would see the two of them talking. Callum would sneak Ben food every time, going from a few pieces of bread and cheese, to whole sandwiches that he stole from the cook, or a piece of cake that he’d saved from dinner the night before. Ben rarely ever thanked him in so many words, but Callum could see his gratitude in the blissed-out look Ben had on his face when he accepted the food. He never asked about it, though- the one time that he had tried to broach the subject of family with Ben, the boy had closed up immediately, turning away from Callum and going back to the chimney. Callum silently apologised with a particularly large slice of cake the next week, and all seemed to be forgotten.

As Callum got older, he was increasingly more aware of the world around him, too. He understood now- the differences most people saw between him and Ben, all the reasons why his dad would hit him if he ever found out Callum had been sneaking the chimney sweep food every week. He and Ben were different kinds of people, from completely different worlds- he could never begin to understand Ben’s world, just as Ben seemed confused by the reality of Callum’s. Yet, that didn’t change their weekly meetings. For whatever reason, Callum just didn’t see the world the way his father, or even perhaps his brother, did- Ben was just a boy, a year or so younger than him. He had no say in where he was born, just as Callum didn’t.

For a while once Callum had turned 13, he stopped seeing the boy around the house. He tried to ask Stuart multiple times what had happened to the boy, but he only answered with a shrug, berating him for caring so much about the house staff. It shocked him just how much he missed Ben’s presence- he missed the other boy’s mischievous smirk and the confident, almost challenging lilt to his voice. Callum didn’t really have any other friends, so his life was definitely quieter without Ben around. His brother said it was because he was too soft, because he needed to grow up a little- all of the other boys his age were confident and smart, always dressed to the nines and knew exactly who they were and what they were doing. Callum wasn’t any of those things- he didn’t seek out the views and looks of others, he didn’t like to be the centre of attention at all. He wasn’t all that bright, and he was clumsy, and kind of lanky. Sure, he would call himself loyal, and caring, and thoughtful, but his father didn’t hesitate to remind him that those things didn’t matter, not in real life- he had to grow up, be a real man, and soon.

It was about two months of Saturdays that Callum had spent lonely until he saw Ben again. The boy looked older now, but thinner and more pale. There were dark bags under his eyes, but the thing that struck Callum the most was the sight of fading bruises on Ben’s right cheekbone. Callum couldn’t talk to him straight away though, he knew that. There were rules to their interactions- the first and most important being that no one else was supposed to know. They’d both get in trouble if Stuart, or, God forbid, Callum’s father, ever found out. So, Callum just watched as Ben lead a younger boy that Callum didn’t think he’d seen before to the back room in which he and Ben always met. Callum swallowed down his curiosity (and the slight hint of worry that burnt through him at the sight of the bruises that adorned Ben’s face) and watched Ben go, itching to talk to him already.

-

“Ben? What happened to you?”

As soon as Callum spoke, Ben’s head whipped around- Callum thought he saw a glint of fear on the boy’s face, but it was quickly painted over with a smirk.

“Aw, you do care, posh boy,” Ben grinned, looking all the more scruffy with the state of his face. Callum tried not to admit to himself that the look was somewhat endearing.

“What are those bruises from, Ben? You go missing for two months, and now you’ve got bruises on your face?” Callum replied, walking closer to Ben.

“Ain’t nothing to do with you, Callum,” Ben replied, all humour gone from his voice. Ben only called him Callum when it was serious- that was when he knew that he’d hit a nerve. “You got anything to eat?”

Callum reached into his pocket, bringing out two small sandwiches. Ben reached for them, but Callum pulled them away at the last minute.

“If you tell me what happened,” Callum said, a smirk creeping onto his face. Ben looked affronted at first, but then grinned slightly.

“So you do have some backbone then?”

Callum flinched at the words- all too similar to the sentiments of his father. “Ben,” he growled. The smirk disappeared from Ben’s face.

“It was my dad, alright? Stepped out of place so I got a beating,” Ben said, eyes flitting away from Callum’s face. “You happy now?”

Callum sighed. He couldn’t bear to push any further- he wasn’t exactly a stranger to his own father’s fist.

“Here,” he said, placing the food in Ben’s outstretched hand. Ben looked at it as I it was the only food he’d seen in days, and slumped to sit against the wall opposite the chimney, one that was hidden from the immediate line of sight of someone entering the room. Callum sat carefully next to him, silent as Ben scoffed the food.

“What’s with the other child?” Callum asked a while later, once Ben had given a contented sigh.

“Getting too old for the chimneys, me. Trading me out,” Ben said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Callum couldn’t hide the desperate disappointment he felt at the prospect of Ben no longer visiting him.

“What will you do now then?” Callum asked.

Ben sighed. “They’ll send me down the mines.”

“The mines?” Callum said incredulously. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“You really ain’t got a clue have you, Callum?” Ben said, anger in his voice. “I ain’t got a choice. I have to do this, otherwise my family don’t get fed.”

“I’m sorry,” Callum said desperately. “I don’t mean to upset you. I just- don’t have any other friends.”

Ben smirked a little at that, but said nothing more.

-

Years passed. Things changed. Callum grew older, harder-he learnt more about the world, and not just from his tutors. He learnt from being at the other end of his father’s fist when he’d asked why some people lived in poverty when he lived like this. He’d learnt from seeing Ben grow, and get slowly beaten down. His mischievous spirit faded, replaced by hard eyes and constantly bruised skin. He hated it, but Callum didn’t even bother asking where the bruises originated from any more- he knew he’d get the same answer every time, and it was an answer that he couldn’t bear to hear any more.

Yet, no matter how much anyone tried to persuade him otherwise, or tell him that he was above people like Ben, Callum couldn’t ignore that he cared. His father prattled on almost daily about getting him married, but he zoned out of those conversations, instead thinking back to late nights spent running the streets with Ben, times when no one would see them or ask questions. They still met, even as the two boys grew older- it was a moment of peace for the both of them, in increasingly confusing lives.

-

“I wish we could run away from all this.”

Callum was seventeen now, Ben just turning sixteen. The two of them were crouched in a quiet alley - their quiet alley – hidden away by the moonlight, where they could whisper secrets to each other that would be heard only by each other and the stars.

“Coming from posh boy?” Ben grinned, passing the bottle of spirit he’d stolen to Callum, who took a swig, grimacing at the taste.

“It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t have to go down the mines every day, and I shouldn’t be living in comfort while you can’t. I don’t see why everyone else can’t see it,” Callum replied, ripping away the hopeless feeling that had been wrapped tightly around his chest for days and baring it to Ben.

“You’re too good for this world, Callum,” Ben replied, drinking from the bottle again, much more used to the taste than Callum. “”But you can’t change it all on your own.”

“I can try,” Callum said, finally turning to look at Ben. “For you, I can try. We can try.”

Ben shook his head just slightly, hopelessness glinting in his eyes. “I admire you, Callum. You’re going to do great things one day, but I can’t do them with you.”

Callum sighed instead, glaring up into the night sky, as if maybe he could find the answers written there. Instead, what he found was the warmth of Ben’s calloused fingers lacing together with his own, a gentle pressure in the way Ben squeezed their palms together.

Maybe he was naïve, just like his father always said. But he had this belief in his chest, burning so bright that he couldn’t ignore it. One day, he’d make everyone else see the injustice that he saw now. For now though, he could just whisper these promises to the sky, with Ben's warm hand in his.

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually so much fun to write I'm falling in love with writing aus. Also, this was written as a request on my tumblr, so if you have a fic request, just let me know @artsy-highway :)  
> Hope you enjoyed, and stay safe   
> leo <3


End file.
